


Piecemeal

by penny



Category: Eureka Seven, Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: no_true_pair, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-01
Updated: 2008-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archer is Mischa's finest work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piecemeal

**Author's Note:**

> For the No True Pair prompt _the memory cannot keep me warm / but it never leaves me cold_

Before the incident, Colonel Frank Archer had been handsome, more striking than most actors playing gentlemen soldiers. He was still handsome, but he'd never be mistaken for an actor now. Mischa didn't think that would bother him.

"Good morning, Colonel Archer." Mischa didn't expect a reply -- the colonel survived the surgery, but he was still under heavy sedation while his body adjusted to the automail -- but checking his vitals in silence was too impersonal. "My colleagues are surprised by your progress, but the Furher knew you'd exceed all of our expectations."

"Oh? Even yours, doctor?"

Mischa froze at the familiar voice. "Sir," she said, carefully tucking Archer's flesh arm back under the covers before turning to face the Fuhrer. "I didn't know you'd be visiting today."

"I had a free moment between appointments. How is my colonel?"

"Exceeding all of our expectations as you said he would." Colonel Archer was an amazing subject. She had no doubt he'd do great things with her automail.

"How long before he can return to active duty?"

"I won't know until he's walking, sir. I have to see how he handles the automail."

The Fuhrer smiled. "I look forward to your report."

* * *

Colonel Archer came out of sedation with minimal damage. One of the orderlies had a broken arm, but it was a clean fracture, and the colonel was apologetic. Mischa had been worried the pain of his injury -- and then the pain of his surgery -- had fractured his mind. She should have known he was as self-disciplined as the Fuhrer promised.

"It is partially the orderly's fault," Mischa said, testing the colonel's reflexes. "You weren't aware you had the automail."

"No." Colonel Archer looked down at his metal hand, clenched and unclenched his fist, examined his metal knuckles. "I should have better control of myself, doctor. This kind of power..."

Mischa waited, but he didn't finish the thought. "You'll learn control soon enough." She tried to keep the pride out of her voice. She had only crafted the automail. It was up to him to use it. "I'm afraid, though, you won't be winning any footraces. We've made your frame as light as possible, but the Fuhrer had certain specifications," she couldn't resist stroking the barrel of his arm, "and your body required extensive reconstruction."

He fixed her with her mechanical eye. "When can I visit the shooting range?"

* * *

Colonel Archer's display at the firing range left Mischa breathless. His stance was perfect. His aim was perfect. He was perfect. She couldn't ask for a better subject.

"An impressive display," the Fuhrer said, applauding as he approached, leaving his secretary and General Hakuro behind.

Colonel Archer drew up straight and saluted. "Thank you, sir." His normal eye slid briefly towards Mischa. She felt herself blushing and had to look away. Subject. She had to think of him as a subject, because thinking of him as a man was dangerous.

She took in the perfect line between flesh and automail, his confident stance. She took in his casual glances at her and his faint smirk. Yes, thinking of him as a man was very dangerous.

She missed the next few parts of the Fuhrer's exchange with the colonel. She came back to the conversation as the Fuhrer said, "Yes, I do believe you are her finest work."

Colonel Archer turned to her. "I will not waste your gift, doctor." He gave her a deep formal bow.

Mischa's pulse quickened, and her throat went dry. No. She was his doctor. She would not be -- could not be -- anything more.

* * *

The day Colonel Archer returned to active duty was her first free day in months. Mischa had planned to spend it alone at home, relaxing in a long, hot bath and then maybe going out to a movie, but she had neglected her friendships in the rush of getting Colonel Archer fully functional, so now it was her turn to make sacrifices. Or so Sonia said, producing reservations for the two of them at a new day spa.

Mischa wasn't normally one for such fancy treatments, but she could come around to Sonia's idea of necessary luxury if facials always felt so good. "I'll forgive you for forcing this upon me," she said at the end of the day, enjoying an excellent martini at the spa's bar.

"Well, you deserve a little pampering. Weren't you frightened being so close to him? Archer, I mean. He's not the most stable person."

Mischa startled. "The orderly's arm was an accident. That kid shouldn't have approached from--"

"I'm not talking about the orderly." Sonia reached across the table and folded her hand over Mischa's. "You're an amazing engineer, but Mischa, I'm terrified by the idea of him running around with your best work."

* * *

Once she started listening, Mischa heard all sorts of awful rumors about Colonel Archer. That he had brought the Crimson Alchemist back into the military in secret. That he had ordered his men into Liore knowing they would die. That he had tried to kill Colonel Mustang and Major Armstrong.

She didn't want to believe them. The colonel was always cordial with her. Gentlemanly. Exactly what a military officer should be.

It was best to focus on her job. "Are there any issues switching between normal vision and infrared?"

"No trouble. This eye should be standard issue." He flashed her a quick smile. "People have a hard time hiding from me now."

"I suppose you can hear whoever you can't see."

"A joke, doctor?" He chuckled.

She looked up from her notes. "Not an intentional one."

He reached out and touched her with his automail hand, the back of his fingers a cold graze along her cheek. "I can hear your heartbeat. I don't wish to make you nervous, doctor. I owe you a great debt."

She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. "The debt is mine, colonel. You gave me the chance to test my theories."

* * *

Mischa welcomed the isolation of her job. Her work was classified top secret, her lab only existed on high-level books, and she spent her days -- and a good portion of her nights -- surrounded by colleagues and test subjects who, for the most part, ignored everyday happenings in favor of research.

Unfortunately, Sonia did not fall into the "for the most part" category. The woman was a wealth of knowledge. Mischa wouldn't be surprised if every rumor in Central found its way to Sonia's eager ears.

"Did you hear?" Sonia said, perching on the edge of Mischa's workbench. "Drachma's launching an invasion. That handsome Brigadier General Mustang has been dispatched to the northern border to stop it."

"Isn't Mustang a colonel?" Mischa asked, speaking around the slim screwdriver in her mouth. She wished Sonia had better timing. Inserting the lens in an automail eye was delicate work.

"He's been promoted. Honestly, Mischa, you need to listen more. Why, if you did, you'd know your colonel is now in charge of Central's security."

Mischa set the eye and her tools down. "Is that so?"

"Yep." Sonia rose. "I'll be taking a long trip to the countryside. Archer scares me, Mischa."

* * *

The entire lab rumbled, and a flurry of plaster dust poured down from the ceiling. Mischa and the others hurried to store the sensitive automail components away. The eyes were safe, the lenses locked away in airtight, fireproof containers, so even if the entire lab came down on them, they'd survive.

"Come on, Mischa," Morita said, shielding his face with the top of his shirt. "We can replace parts. Competent researchers are a little harder."

Mischa let him lead her out to the stairwell. "Is there any news?"

"There's a Mustang-loyal faction putting up one hell of a fight."

"What about Colonel Archer?"

Morita turned away, gripping the stairway's railing tightly. "He took a full hit from a grenade and survived. Really high-grade stuff you crafted, Mischa."

"Where is he? Does he need repairs?" She wished she had thought to grab her toolbox. Another explosion rocked the building, and both she and Morita braced themselves against the wall.

"He's snapped, Mischa!" Morita stopped. "He's killing his own men, going on about how he needs to get to the Fuhrer."

"No. That's not true. He's an excellent solider."

Morita glanced back at her, his expression sad. "I'm sorry, Mischa. It's true."

* * *

The morgue was silent, the corners of the room in deep shadow. Colonel Archer looked horrible, his hair matted with dried blood, his hidden gun drooping out from his mouth. The gears in his throat must have been damaged in the grenade blast. Mischa gently forced the gun back into place, noting where it caught. L-4, L-5, and L-7 were shot, and L-6 was barely functional.

"Well, Colonel Archer," she said, lightly touching his lips. "Everyone says you were the wrong person to receive my automail, but I have no regrets."

Someone opened the door to the room, and Mischa heard the comforting click of Sonia's heels. "How was the country?" she asked without turning around.

"Considerably more peaceful than the city. But there were mosquitoes." Sonia drew up alongside her. "Are you all right?"

"Not a scratch on me."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I'm fine."

Sonia was silent for a moment. "I can understand why you admired him. He was misguided." She gave a thin, brittle laugh. "But weren't we all, following the Fuhrer?"

"It's best this way." Mischa drew the white sheet up over his face. "He died believing he protected his Fuhrer. His country."

* * *

Few people visited Archer's grave. Mischa was the only regular visitor, so she was surprised to see another woman, a civilian, standing in front of it, hands clasped in front of her. She bowed. Mischa frowned and quickened her pace. Who was this woman?

The woman turned and stopped short when she saw Mischa. Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Mischa hid her surprise. "I heard you were on leave, lieutenant."

"Yes."

"Tending to Brigadier General Mustang."

"Yes."

"Well, I hope he's doing well." Mischa knelt and placed the bouquet of flowers on top of the grave.

"I heard you were the lead on Colonel Archer's surgery, ma'am."

Mischa smiled. "Yes."

"I also hear you come here every week."

Mischa rose and dusted off her knees. "Do you have a problem with that, lieutenant?"

"No."

"Good."

"Why do you come?"

"To pay my respects." Mischa clasped her hands and bowed her head. "He didn't know what your colonel knew."

"It wouldn't have made a difference to him."

Mischa felt the phantom feeling of Archer's automail fingers brushing her cheek. "No. You're right." The admission hurt, but not as much as Mischa feared it would. "He was an amazing man, even with his flaws."


End file.
